A bad day for suicide: It was dark and it snowed gloomy. I was on my way without lighting. I had taken it off because my battery was no longer punctured and the ignition needed all the spark juice. The engine started petting. I rolled out and pushed the thing to the waterfront parking lot. There was a car with its lights on and the left door open. The driver walked towards the water with a 'dragging step'. I improvised a sprint. Running in a complete motorcycle outfit is awkward. I caught up with the man standing in the water right up to his calves. My motorcycle boots were full. I grabbed the walker by the shoulder and shouted: “You shouldn't do that in front of me! That makes me nervous !. And at the gate of heaven you stand like a dick in such a puddle of water! ”The man looked at me somewhat empty. His eyes were holes in his head.
Lessons in survival
“Listen, I am a motorcyclist and I almost die every day. Believe me, there's nothing to it. ”I didn't learn for it, but disrupting people is just a gift. In the water, the conversation took on a fairly surrealistic form. Think "Monty Python meets Dr. Phil '' Let's talk further in your car. Maybe I find you so sad that I drown you. ”My conversation partner slowly became more assertive and meanwhile was so gripped by our bizarre communication that he came out of the water. In the car it came to such a conversation with which they throw us to death on TV these days. All emotion, despair, loose ends. Then my catch suddenly looked up at me: “But you are smoking a cigar in my car! This car has never smoked! ”I immediately start to like it less because I cherish my bad habits. "Well if you don't like it, there is the river". The man got a crazy smile that he almost stayed in. “Look, you get extra air miles at the gate of heaven when you have laughed to death. All in all, you are wearing wet shoes and I have a broken engine. If I take you home first, then you can take me to the station. ”My conversation partner sobbed a little after laughing, but in the meantime apparently decided to continue playing in injury time. We drove to his house. There was a rather desperate lady plus a few soothing figures. There was some peace in the case. Someone brought me not only to the station, but even home. I told my Lief that I just had to score a trailer to pick up my dead motorcycle. The same evening my problems appeared to be due to a broken alternator cable. I never thought about the problems of the aspiring swimmer. As a motorcyclist you already have enough on your mind.
And it was almost Christmas.
Then you just want peace in the tent and in your head.
Merry Christmas!
